by G. P. Taylor
Beadle counted Ergott’s footsteps as he staggered along the corridor above him. He listened to the creaking of the door and then the clumsy turning of a lock as Ergott took to his bed.
For another hour he brooded like an old hen. Beadle stacked the fire, piling the logs as high as they would go, and nestled himself upon the hearth. Taking Lady Tanville’s cloak from the chair, he wrapped himself in it. He nuzzled his face into the cloth and sniffed the heavy scent of wild jasmine. No one came to show him a room and very quickly the house fell silent. He dozed, half dreaming, half waking. In the distance he heard the innkeeper locking the doors and sliding the bolts to keep out the night. The cold wind whistled outside. Beadle felt safe, knowing that upon the walls an armed guard waited.
No matter how hard he tried to dream, his mind was brought back to Raphah. All he could see was the lad’s face as he went off into the night. Beadle found himself doting on the lad, fretting as to what had become of him.
The old pig-candles that lit the hall waned with time. They flickered grimly in their holders. Some died away in the shallow breeze that swirled up the landing from the gap beneath the oak door that led to the courtyard. Beadle watched intently as he angrily mulled over Ergott’s words. Finally he felt the onset of sleep as his eyes grew heavy and the light began to fade.
‘Don’t care if I look like a dog,’ he moaned to himself as he closed his eyes.
There was an unexpected and sharp footfall from the gallery, as if someone had danced across the floor in a room above. Beadle sat bolt upright. All was in darkness but for the glow of the fire. The sound came again and then he heard the soft voice whispering above him: ‘Sleep one sleep all … As the night shall fall … Sleep once, sleep twice … Bed-bug, lark and mice … And all shall dream, and all sleep well … Until the dawn shall break the spell …’
There was a swirl of blue light, like that of a will-o’-the-wisp. It seeped under the door, took the form of a burning orb and then took flight about the house as if summoned by the spell.
Beadle pulled the cloak tightly about him and hid himself, pretending to sleep. The footsteps came closer, walking across the landing of the gallery and then onto the staircase. One by one and step by step they drew near. Beadle held his breath as he tried to peer out through his wrinkled eyelids and feigned dreaming.
From the corner of his eye he could see the dark figure coming towards him and carrying the Hand of Glory. Upon the stairs it was held aloft and then motioned in the sign of a star as the words were chanted again: ‘Sleep one sleep all … As the night shall fall … Sleep once, sleep twice … Bed-bug, lark and mice … And all shall dream, and all sleep well … Until the dawn shall break the spell …’
The candles that were within the hand spluttered and winced as the blue orb circled around it and then vanished. Beadle pretended to snore. He gulped the air and moaned, hoping that he would be left alone. The footsteps came closer and closer and the smell of wild jasmine became stronger. A hand reached out to his neck and took hold of the hood of the cloak.
Slowly and steadily Lady Tanville gently pulled the cloak from him. Beadle carried on in his profession of dreaming. He had heard the spell and knew her to be a witch.
For Beadle, witches were dangerous creatures. Once he had visited the witch of White Moor. He had gone with a single wart upon his chin. She had given him the cure of crushed spiders, elm root and nettle. Within the hour he was unable to speak and his head had swollen to the size of a summer cabbage. What were once his eyes had shrivelled to that of a newt. Witches were all the same, he thought. Pay them good money and await your prickly fate.
Beadle knew that the Hand of Glory was not a commonplace object. Whoever had it in their possession was not to be trusted and it was only by chance that he too had not been controlled by its charm. For those who slept would remain asleep and those awake when the spell was uttered would keep awake.
He listened as Lady Tanville took the cloak from him and wrapped it around her shoulders as she walked away. Now he knew what she was. In his heart he had known it, and now he was sure. With one eye he followed her as she walked towards the far end of the room. By the side of a large oak panel, Lady Tanville stopped and from a small bag unfolded a piece of paper. She studied this map for some time and then pressed the wooden panel in front of her face. The oak parted and she stepped inside.
Beadle waited, then got to his feet and followed. Something inside, a cold dark voice that defied reason, told him to go onwards. He reached the open panel and just as he stepped across it the panel slammed shut, pinning him to the wall with the force of a landslide. He squealed momentarily as he tried to grasp his breath. Then he heard the footsteps coming back out of the darkness towards him.
Beadle was trapped, his head in the hall of the inn and his body inside the passageway. The footsteps came even closer. There was a click of the secret lock and the panel slid open. He breathed a sigh and slid down to his knees. It was then he found a knife at his throat.
‘You’re supposed to be asleep,’ Tanville said as she pressed the blade against his flesh.
‘So are you,’ Beadle grumbled as he tried to speak without opening his mouth.
‘How long have you known about the Glory Hand, Beadle?’ she asked quietly.
‘Since the night before. I saw you counting the money, Bragg’s money.’
‘And you said nothing?’
‘You helped Raphah. I know not why. It would have been easy for you just to let him hang and you would have the money still. No one would suspect you,’ Beadle said.
‘He was innocent. I wouldn’t let him hang for me.’ She took the knife from him and pulled him within the passageway, shutting the oak panel behind them.
‘What are you searching for?’ Beadle asked looking around the dark passageway that was illuminated by the Glory Hand.
‘Bragg is an art dealer, an expert on all things literary and artistic. Oh, he would want to write but has not the faculty. So he collects, or should I say he hoards. Books, pictures, anything of beauty. He took a picture from my family and now I want it back. He sold it to a merchant in London. It was Bragg who sold the Glory Hand to my uncle, exchanged it for a piece of the true Cross. It’s what he does best, magical artefacts.’
‘Can’t you just buy the picture from him?’ Beadle enquired as he rubbed his neck and stared into the flames of the Glory Hand.
‘I am following Bragg to London. He takes something to the merchant, something that I believe to be hidden in the cave beneath us. Bragg will take me to the portrait and then I will kill him. Now, Beadle, tell me secrets of yourself or I’ll have to kill you.’ Tanville put the knife to his nose.
‘I am Beadle, I have no secrets,’ he said nervously.
‘Then how do you know of the power of the hand?’ she asked.
‘My master … He used the Glory Hand many times.’
‘And who is that?’
‘Obadiah Demurral. But I have run from his service,’ Beadle muttered, hoping that he would never have to say the words again.
In the passageway the shadows cast by the hand loomed about them as if they were to hold them in their grip. A shrill breeze whistled from the depths below. It sounded like a thousand children weeping in their graves. The walls dripped and the water splashed upon the steps to form a small stream that trickled out of sight. The cold shivered their bones as Beadle stared into the Lady Tanville’s bright eyes.
‘And you say you have no secrets? He is a warlock and knows Bragg well. I would say we are equal in our skulduggery. Swear an oath on this knife that you will say nothing.’
‘Swear,’ said Beadle.
‘Then follow me. You are now in my service. Bragg hid an item here the last time he travelled. It will tell me all that I need to know.’ Tanville led Beadle down the passageway and over the rock steps to a cavern below.
Uninvited Guests
SMUTT, Smutt, wake up,’ Thomas said urgently as he began to lift him from the floo
r.
‘Never before,’ Smutt moaned and tried to focus his bleary eyes on Thomas’s face.
‘I tried to tell you. It could have been different,’ Thomas said quietly.
‘You hit me so hard … I never saw you.’
‘You’d have hit me, if I’d given you a chance.’ Thomas looked at the lad. ‘Why do you fight everyone?’
‘Always have, what I do best,’ Smutt said cautiously as he held his face. ‘It’s my job: keep the lads in order. Top dog – that’s what Galphus says. He always brings them to me and leaves me alone with them and I give them a good beating and tell them the rules of the place.’ Smutt swallowed hard and looked at Thomas. ‘It’ll be your job now – best bed, best food and all that goes with it. Here,’ he said, pulling a bunch of keys on a brass ring from his pocket. ‘You’d better ’ave these. I was on lock-up. No one would ever argue with me. When they find out you beat me they’ll all wanna ’ave a go.’
‘Keeps your keys,’ Thomas said as he helped Smutt to his feet. ‘Show me my bed and keep yours. I’m not planning on staying here. I was tricked into this place, signed against my will and I’ll be off by the morning.’
‘They all say that, every one of them. Within the day you’ll be just like the rest. Those that try to escape get shoed and then they can never leave,’ Smutt said pugnaciously as he picked the bloodied snot from his nose.
‘Shoed or barefoot, I’ll still be going, every day, even if I was caught a hundred times I won’t be staying. I’ve a score to settle and my blood boils.’ Thomas spat the words as he thought of Crane’s betrayal for selling him to Galphus.
‘If you get shoed you can’t leave. Once they’re on your feet, Galphus will know where you are every minute of the day. If you ever did get out they’d come alive and stop you. If you run they trip you up and if you hide they shout out. No one has ever got away from this place. Once you hear the bell, you’ll know what I talk of.’
‘Who’s heard of shoes that do that?’ Thomas said. He suddenly remembered Pallium’s magnificent shoes.
‘I’ve seen them. Galphus makes them. They stick to your feet, become a part of you, can never take them off. Does it to people he wants to control. Seen it with my own eyes.’
‘Then you’ll see me jump from them and from this place.’
Smutt hit the wall with his fist. ‘Been here three years and hate every minute. Said those words myself. All I know now is fighting. Fought the lad who had this job before me and will fight everyone who comes to keep it. A hundred kids look to me as boss – all this landing and half the one above. The only people I answered to were Galphus and his Druggles.’ Smutt dropped his head. ‘You were the first to beat me, it’s yours now – them’s the rules – get beat, get lost. That’s what Galphus said.’
Thomas noticed the chequerboard of cuts upon the lad’s arms. They crisscrossed back and forth across his skin in ribbons of cut flesh. Smutt saw him looking and quickly rolled down his sleeve to hide the marks.
‘Who did them to you?’ Thomas asked.
‘No one, did ’em meself. What else is there to do?’ He spoke half-proud, half-ashamed, his eyes cast to the floor.
‘What for?’ Thomas pressed him.
‘When you’ve been here three years, let me see your skin. It’s what we all does … Part of the apprenticeship – cut yourself, cut out the pain and the misery.’
‘Then I’ll be gone by the night – coming?’ Thomas asked.
‘What makes you think I won’t tell Galphus?’ Smutt asked.
‘Because I would beat you every day to within an inch of your life and enjoy doing it,’ Thomas said coldly. ‘You can keep your job and your keys. If anyone asks, I’ll say you beat me. Treat me like you would a new lad, treat me bad. Do that and I’ll be gone and no one will ever know different.’
Smutt paused for a moment. It was as if you could see his mind whirring as he thought out the consequences. Slowly a smile came to his face. ‘I could help you get out … You could go now. Galphus would never think you’d make a break straight away.’ He kicked the heels of his boots as he sprung to life. Thomas didn’t notice the glistening leather and the golden soles that shimmered radiantly as Smutt walked on.
‘We go now?’ asked Thomas.
‘Right now, before anyone suspects. Galphus will think I am showing you the room where you’ll live. I know a place where there is an open window, from it you can get onto the roof and from there into a courtyard and across the city. It’s the only way. Every door is guarded and the only things that leave this place is Galphus’s shoes.’ Smutt seemed excited as he spoke and thought at the same time and, amazingly, was able to walk as well. ‘It won’t be easy – if we get stopped tell ’em I’m showing you the place. We won’t get far until you get out of them clothes and into your kit. This way.’
Smutt led Thomas down a narrow flight of stairs. From all around he could hear the pounding of the hammers that punctually beat out the seconds. The longer they walked, the darker the staircase became. Smutt went ahead until he stopped by an open door with a warm light that bled into the passageway.
‘Here,’ he said. ‘You can get fixed up. If we get caught, you’ll get banged up for a week and then Galphus will have you shoed, no questions asked. Them’s the rules, so let’s not get caught.’ Smutt’s eyes darted around the narrow room. ‘Get garbed and make it quick.’ Smutt pointed to a rack of dreary clothes hanging from a rail. Puritan white shirts hung next to grey jackets with dull trousers, drabber socks and black, dowdy boots.
Thomas changed and in an instant looked just like the rest who drudged and moaned about the factory. Smutt laughed to himself, already knowing what was to come. Thomas reached for a pair of fine black shoes that looked to be his size. They were different from the others and looked inviting.
‘No,’ said Smutt as Thomas was about to slip his foot into the shoe. ‘Them’s the ones I told you about. One toe in that and he’ll have you for life. Take these.’ He handed Thomas an ordinary pair of black lace up boots. ‘I’ve changed my mind,’ he said capriciously as he took Thomas by the hand. ‘I’ll come with you. Had enough of life here, going nowhere, might as well get out of the place.’
‘Then we’ll flee together. I have one thing to do when we escape and then I’m heading for France – come with me if you want, I could use a mate like you.’
‘That’s right – I’m your mate, always will be. Right to the end.’ Smutt rubbed his fist in his hand as the bruise to his face began to ache. ‘Ten floors higher and then we can get out of this place. There’s a window in the tower.’
They set off together, Smutt slightly ahead and walking at the same pace as everyone else. The factory seemed endless, as if it was built like a city within a city, standing outside time and space. They walked for several minutes, Smutt stopping to point out the work stations, water butts and the feeding hall. Each doorway was guarded by a boy not much older than themselves. They all held a thick cudgel behind their back. They stood deathly still, faces cast like stone, eyes dead to the world. Smutt smiled at each one in turn and they duly nodded and let him by.
‘They’re the Druggles,’ Smutt whispered. ‘Get picked by Galphus to keep an eye on us. None of them is any good – keep ’em sweet by giving them your food.’
‘Do you not get paid for what you do?’ Thomas asked.
‘Galphus keeps it until you’re twenty-one. What do you need money in here for? You can’t spend it. Sixpence a week and all found. Free boots and a shirt for your back. ’Tis luxury beyond dreams,’ Smutt said sarcastically.
Upon the seventh landing they were stopped by a guard who asked Smutt his business. He nervously explained that he was under Galphus’s orders to show the new lad the factory and they were let by without further question. They walked through another workshop that appeared smaller than the rest. In its centre was a large platform and upon the platform was a metal sphere encrusted in gold and hanging from a wooden frame. In the centre of the sphere
was a hand-painted dragon with an eye that seemed to follow Thomas wherever he stood.
Thomas stopped and stared.
‘It’s a gong,’ Smutt said, as if he knew what it was. ‘Only heard it once – they use it when someone gets shoed … Dragon’s Heart, Galphus calls it. No one gets out if they hear the Dragon’s Heart.’ Thomas stared at the Dragon’s Heart and wondered what power it contained and how the beating of the gong would stop anyone from escaping from Galphus.
Smutt took Thomas higher and higher. Each floor was identical: on each level a Druggle, each Druggle staring in the same manner. All wore the same boots that looked as if they were a part of their bodies. They were made of thick black leather with deep wooden soles. Thomas noticed that the colour of the bootlaces changed. ‘Why are they different?’ he asked Smutt as they walked by another Druggle.
‘Red for the Druggles and black for the interns – Galphus calls us apprentices. Indentured for life and only leave when you die.’
‘But you can go when you get to twenty-one,’ Thomas said. ‘It’s in the contract, Galphus showed me.’
‘Galphus lied. Look around you – you won’t find a man of that age here. Come eighteen they all vanish and no one knows what happens to them.’
‘And you would have stayed?’ he asked.
‘I wouldn’t live that long. Not here. After a while you give up caring. Living or dead – what’s the difference?’
Two Druggles approached as they walked the corridor. Smutt looked swiftly to the floor, his face coloured to glowing scarlet. Thomas stared straight ahead as if they weren’t there.
‘Sweeper boy,’ one said, taking hold of Smutt by the collar. ‘What you doing here?’
